“God made me tenderly, with love in every stitch, and how did I repay that care? I forced God to watch me as I ripped open every last seam.”

No matter how deep I go, I can’t cut it out. I was fighting against the red, but as it slowly faded into black, I caught a glimpse of the truth.

I’ve spent so many years living on a razors edge that I stopped fearing sharp objects altogether. No, maybe I was never afraid in the first place. A cut is just a cut.

It only hurts for a moment.

It only bleeds for a moment.

It will sting in the shower for a day or two.

It will form a scab overnight.

And, in a months time, only a faded red line will remain.

By the end of the year, that line will have started to turn pink. Another year, another shade lighter. 20 years later and you’d need a decently bright light to find those first few lines.

20 years, huh? I’ve been doing this for 20 years? Is that a long time? I have no idea if that’s a long time. That’s a crazy amount of time though, right? If I stop to think about it, it really is pure insanity.

I’ve never gone from one birthday to the next without making a new cut.

I’ve never opened presents under the Christmas tree without seeing the scars I carved into my body by choice.

I graduated from high school and college during the month of June, and on both occasions I was worried my robes wouldn’t be long enough to cover my arms past the elbow, so I wore a long-sleeved shirt to be safe.

I can’t remember anybody embracing my body before I ruined it… I know I was hugged before these scars though… pictures all over my parents home show a round, smiling kid being held and hugged and kissed by so many different people… and I can’t remember any of it…

I feel like I stole something from all those people. I did, didn’t I? I stole that child from them…

I wish I could give it all back to them. I wish I could reverse time and stop myself from making that first cut.

But I also can’t remember that first cut… so I guess I never could have escaped this fate, right? Am I right?

Can’t somebody, please… just tell me I’m right…

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I believe all people are bits and pieces, and throughout life we can gather pieces from others or give some of ours away. Some people are only out to take everything they can, while others will give until they have nothing left, but most of us fall in between. And yet there are those people who will defy all logic and simply toss there pieces into the trash, for nobody and nothing at all. I don't know if it's possible to get back those pieces that have been thrown away, but this blog is all about my journey, to try and find out if someone who threw away everything for nothing can find something, or anything at all...I'm just looking for a reason to keep on living.
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